Hmm. Depends on what's in the glass, I guess...

In a nation full of heavy drinkers, I've sometimes arrived at predictable moments of self-analysis while looking at the drink in front of me, mainly regarding my outlook on life: half full or half empty?

I was raised by a gentle father, a disciplinarian Type-A mother, and an old-fashioned Ukrainian grandmother. From about age 7-10, I was with Babchya (the grandmother), since my parents were working in New York City to make the $$, and commuting every Friday evening to come and see me upstate. Babchya was a criticizer. I am totally in love with her now, but back then, I couldn't do anything right by her, and I felt really isolated without my parents. When they would come up on Fridays I would be insane with joy, but when they would leave on Sunday afternoons to get back to the city, I would fiercely cling to them, sobbing and pleading with them not to leave me. It was heartbreaking, and I can still remember what that felt like. After a few years only seeing me once a week, Mamo (my mother) couldn't take the strain anymore and moved upstate to be with me and Babchya while Tato (my dad) worked as a broker on Wall Street. Mamo and Babchya fought a LOT, because I was both of their property, and both felt "right" in their decisions about me. It was then that I tried to make everyone get along by disappearing into my own little creative world, and being the happy-go-lucky perfect child that excelled at sports and music- but no matter if Mamo was proud, she would cut me down to make me try harder. She would push me to my limits, a lot of the times physically, in sports, to force me to be a stronger person (she used to call me "Miss Delicate").

As far as Tato, for the next 4 years we only saw Tato once a week, because he kept commuting, trying to take care of us. He would arrive on a bus Friday evening, get up with Mamo on Saturday morning at 7am to drive me to Ukrainian school and dance classes, and on Sunday, he would have to take the 3pm bus back to NYC. I cannot imagine the strain he must have been under, and how difficult it was for their marriage to only see each other once a week. He finally said "fuck it, I miss my family way too much, this is getting ridiculous" and left the city to be with us and became a boat salesman at a well-known marina. And up until 2 years ago, that's what he did, and loved every second of it, because he was finally able to be with us. And I was finally able to have that unconditional "you're the bestsest no matter what" every once in a while.

Now, reading that summary of my life, one would assume that I would be a fiercely independent tough cookie and relish time by myself, since all of those days of proving myself and sobbing when my parents left would have shaped me into a woman of steel. Right?

Nope.

The opposite happened, and that's just because everyone reacts differently to their childhood stimuli.

I became a person that from my teenage years up until my twenties, I craved affection, attention, and as soon as someone close to me went away, and that affection wasn't there, it was extremely hard for me to cope. Ridiculously, I took it personally. I felt like I was the reason they'd want to leave, because I'd never be enough to keep them around. The pattern that was repeated in my head was Where are they going? Why is it more exciting to be without me? Are they ever coming back?

I was destructively half empty.

Even writing about that now, in my thirties, it strikes a tender chord with me, a bittersweet acknowledgement of what I used to be, and the woman that I've now become. It makes me want to hug that girl and tell her that she's always good enough because she lives a good life and she's nice to people, and she strives to be a good person that wants everyone in the world to have lovely love stories. I still have little remnants, little negative gremlins that creep up and say "ha, ha.. see? We told you that you'd screw up", or, I'd have a really lovely day out with the mister and then I'd say "well, how come we didn't do THIS also? That's disappointing.". But luckily, the mister recognises that trait and calls me on it before I start spiralling into more criticism.

It's not fun to know that that person still exists in me, but I know that the only way I can change that is to keep reminding myself of the amazing adventures that I've had, and will continue to have in my life as a Ukrainian woman, wife, writer, and hopeless romantic. And with my mister right by my side, solid and unwavering.

Half full.